In the ancient times, the divine powers renewed themselves, each manifesting in their own unique forms, ruling by their inherent might. From the very beginning, they upheld the cosmic order, maintaining harmony in the world. Among them, Mitra’s aid was especially great, helping beings cross over and steadfastly upholding truth. The gods encircled the sacrifice, encompassing it with their presence, and took their seats around the sacred fire. With the Lord of the field as our ally, we prepared to conquer the challenges before us, as if riding forth in a chariot to victory. This gracious Lord, the nourisher of cattle and horses, we prayed, would favor us. We called upon him to pour out a sweet and abundant wave upon the earth, as a cow releases her milk, and wished that the lords of nectar would bless us with honey-dripping, purified ghee. Our prayers flowed further: May the plants be sweet, and may the heavens and waters be filled with sweetness. May the midspace itself become sweet, and may the Lord of the field be gentle with us, allowing us to walk unharmed upon his surface. We wished for all to be auspicious—the oxen, the men, the plough as it tills, the yokes as they are tied, and the goad as it is raised. To Śunāsīra, the deity who created the milk in the sky, we offered our words, asking him to sprinkle this field with his blessings. We honored Sītā, the goddess of the furrow, inviting her to approach and be gracious, so that she might be fruitful for us. We wished that Indra would take hold of Sītā and that Pūṣan would settle her, so that she, rich in milk, would yield us harvest after harvest. We prayed that our ploughshares would till the earth with good fortune, and that the ploughmen would approach with their teams in auspiciousness. May the rain-cloud shower us with honey and milk, and may Śunāsīra bestow prosperity upon us. From the depths of the ocean, a honeyed wave arose, swelling with foam and bearing immortality. There, hidden, was the secret name of ghee—known as the tongue of the gods and the navel of nectar. We declared the sacred name of ghee in our sacrifice, upholding it with reverence, as the inspired poet recited hymns and the four-horned bull proclaimed this mystery. This wondrous bull had four horns, three feet, two heads, and seven hands; bound threefold, he bellowed, and the great god entered into mortals. The gods had discovered the ghee, hidden within the cow, divided it threefold and guarded by many hands: Indra generated one part, Sūrya another, and Venā shaped the third with his own power. From the heart, from the ocean, a hundredfold streams flowed, difficult to cross, and in their midst golden reeds could be seen. Like cows, these rivers flowed rightly, purified in heart and mind, rushing forth like wild beasts eager for their lair. They surged like a river in flood, swift as the wind, breaking through barriers like a red stallion, swelling with waves. Together, these streams flowed like adorned women, smiling upon Agni. The ghee kindled the sacred fires, and Jātavedas, the divine fire, joyfully accepted them. Like maidens eager for a husband, anointed and adorned, the streams of ghee flowed where Soma was pressed and where the sacrifice was performed. We prayed that these streams would flow forth with excellent praise, bringing cattle and bestowing auspicious wealth. We called upon the gods to lead our sacrifice, as the streams of ghee flowed with honeyed sweetness. All the worlds rested in their abode, within the ocean, within the heart and the breath of life. In the waters and in the assembly, among those who are sustained, we sought to approach that wave, rich with sweetness, O dark one. With the kindling of the sacred fire, Agni awakened among the people, stretching forth like a cow to her calf, like young birds rising up. His rays streamed towards the sky. As the priest, Agni arose for the worship of the gods, upright and gracious at dawn. The brilliance of his kindled flame dispelled the darkness. When the company was gathered and the offerings prepared, pure Agni was adorned with the gifts of pure cows. The right-hand offering was yoked to the victorious, and Agni took his place with the ladles, ready to receive the offerings. The minds of the worshippers turned to Agni, as eyes turn to the sun. When he was fanned by the two dawns, the white steed was born at the beginning of the days. Born at the dawn, set in his appointed places, Agni shone bright in the woods. Bearing seven treasures, he sat down as the most worthy priest. He settled in the lap of the fragrant mother, in the world, young and wise, established in many places, upholding the peoples, kindled in their midst. The worshippers praised Agni, the inspired one, at their sacrifices, with reverence. He, who stretched out the two worlds with truth, was always cleansed with ghee. The house-born guest, praised by poets, brought auspiciousness. With a thousand horns, the bull, Agni, surpassed all others with his might. Ever surpassing, Agni became most beautiful, worthy of praise, wondrous and shining, beloved guest of all peoples. To him, the youngest, offerings were brought from near and far, seeking his favor and protection. We prayed for his great, splendid, and auspicious protection. We invited Agni to stand upon the radiant chariot, surrounded by worshippers, to bring the gods to partake of the offering, knowing the paths of the wide atmosphere. To the wise, pure poet, the mighty bull, we offered our hymns, reverently praising Agni, shining like gold in heaven. In a mystical vision, the mother, a young woman, bore a boy—awakened, hidden, held close but not given to the father. His face was undiminished among the people, seen at the front, in the chariot. The question arose: who was this young woman who bore the boy? The powerful one had begotten him, and the embryo had grown through many seasons. The wise saw him born when the mother gave birth. From afar, he was seen with golden teeth, pure in color, measuring the fields without weapons. The wise one granted immortality, and the blameless ones offered praises. He was seen moving from the field, newly born, with a splendid herd, shining greatly. None could seize him; he was simply born. The pale young women became mothers. Among the many with cows, the noble ones were those whose guardian was even the wilderness. Those who had taken him were asked to release him, for the wise one knows the birth of cattle and should come near. Even when enemies placed the king, the sustainer of people, among mortals as a dwelling, the prayers of Atri could release him, turning back revilement upon the revilers. Just as Śunaḥśepa, bound to the sacrificial post, was released and not consumed, so too, Agni, the wise Hotar, was invoked to release us from all bonds, sitting here in the sacred presence. Thus, through these divine hymns and visions, the ancient seers honored the gods, upheld the cosmic order, and sought blessings for abundance, sweetness, and liberation.